Sisterchicks Down Under Read online

  “The Chocolate Fish is down the road by the sandy cove.” He pointed me in the right direction. “Go right and follow the street around the curve for about a kilometer. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” I gave a friendly wave and went back inside for my wallet. If I was making a fresh start of it, nothing would help more than a grande mocha latte and a walk on the beach.

  I was about a block away from the apartment when I heard a bird singing an unfamiliar twitter in the tree across the road. I was used to the doves’ low cooing in two orange trees that separated our ranch-style home in Tustin from our neighbors’. The fragrance of the spring orange blossoms was just beginning to lace the air when I left home. I didn’t recognize the scent in the Wellington air. The breeze had an Indian summer calm and warmth to it, but the scent in the air was sweet. Jasmine maybe? Honeysuckle?

  Trotting past more cottage-sized houses, I rounded a bend and noted that larger, more elaborate homes were built on an imposing hill on the left side of the road.

  Two more feathered friends overhead twittered the bird-song I didn’t recognize. I stopped under the tree, peering up through the stained glass-looking leaves, trying to see what kind of bird was making that sound. A flurry of leaf rustling produced no birds, but a few leaves and feathers came raining down on me. I closed my eyes and waited for a leaf to touch my face. In southern California the seasonal changes were subtle. I was trying my best to enter into the New Zealand autumn.

  Continuing on, I came upon the cove Mr. Barry had mentioned. Large granite formations jutted out-of the water, providing solitary islands for the seagulls. Far across the blue-green water rose the neighboring hills of this irregular-shaped inlet. I stopped to look over the small, sandy beach. No one was in view

  Slipping off my shoes, I wedged my bare feet into the cold sand and quietly made my peace with God. I knew He never wasted any life experience. He had dreams for me even here in New Zealand. I believed that. But since we arrived, I hadn’t asked Him what His dreams were for me. I’d only asked over and over what I was doing here. The answer to what I was “doing” in New Zealand so far had been obvious—nothing. But that was about to change. My heart was tender now. I was ready.

  Across the narrow road from the turnout where I’d taken the steps down to the beach, I noticed a funky, elongated green building. The small sign in front told me this was the cafe Mr. Barry had mentioned.

  Eager to sit on the covered front patio and sip a mocha latte, I dusted off my sandy feet and headed across the street. I entered the café and immediately was taken in with the charm and simplicity of the eclectic atmosphere. All the tables along the front windows were occupied except one. I went to that table and pulled out a brightly painted chair that bore the words: “Caution. Seagulls.” The chair across the table bore a single red stripe and the neatly printed word: “Wellington.”

  Trying not to be obvious, I glanced at the woman sitting at the table across from me. She had beautiful, sun-kissed, tawny hair that fell smoothly to her shoulders. Her face was turned toward the window where her gaze stayed fixed on the endless sea. Translucent tears rolled down her cheeks while she did nothing to stop them, blot them, or in any other way acknowledge them. The tears seemed somehow fitting, as if this was her place to be right now, and the reason she was here was to shed tears.

  All around us hummed the sounds of clattering plates, water running in a sink, and the buzz of half a dozen conversations spiked with a few dots of laughter. She didn’t seem to notice any of it.

  I spotted a message on the chalkboard that invited me to place my order at the counter. Beside the counter was a glass pastry case filled with sweets and rolls. Taking my place in line, I waited for the woman in front of me who had a toddler balanced on her hip. His New Zealand accent sounded adorable as he asked his “mummy” if he could have a “fluffy.”

  “Yes, Jordan. I ordered a fluffy for you and Logan. Now here’s a chocolate fish for each of you.”

  “Yummy!” He took two candies from the woman at the register. The long, fish-shaped treats were covered with chocolate, and the first one immediately went into his mouth.

  I smiled at the cute tyke and stepped forward to order. “I’d like one of those candies and a mocha latte.”

  “And just what have you done today?” the young woman asked in a friendly yet clipped manner. She seemed to be staring at the top of my head.

  “Excuse me?”

  “For the chocolate fish. What have you done to warrant a sweetie?”

  I lowered my voice and tried to subdue my American accent, as I explained that I didn’t understand what she was asking.

  “Have you never heard that saying? You do something well, and someone says, ‘Well done. Here’s your chocolate fish.’ ”

  “No, I guess that’s one of many new expressions for me.”

  She tilted her head, and I thought she was trying to decide if she believed me or if I was making fun of what was apparently a well-known New Zealand saying. It turned out to be neither when she asked again, “So, what was your great accomplishment today?”

  I felt heat race up my neck as my embarrassment rose. It was either that, or I was having my first hot flash.

  This young woman had no idea what an accomplishment it had been for me to get out of bed and get myself here. But I knew. With my chin raised I declared, “I got up this morning.”

  She seemed to think I was making a clever joke. “Good for you. Have a chocolate fish. We’ll bring your mocha to the table.”

  She handed me the soft, chewy treat. It was about four inches long and about as thick as a fluffy flapjack. The center was pink. It tasted like I was eating a chocolate-covered marshmallow. The burst of sweetness made me smile.

  The woman with the beautiful, honey golden hair looked up at me as I slipped past her table. Our eyes met, and she offered me a half smile. A few tears still glistened on her fair skin. She, too, looked up at the top of my head.

  Popping the last bit of the chocolate fish into my mouth, I cautiously moved my hand to the back of my head to see if my hair was sticking up. I discovered two white-tipped feathers caught in my hair. Then I remembered the trees I’d passed under and how I’d stopped to close my eyes and listen to the chittering birds.

  “A little souvenir,” I said with a shrug and a nervous laugh. “From my walk over here.”

  I tucked the feathers into the pocket of my jeans and headed for my waiting chair, but she stopped me.

  “You’re an American!” the woman said, her Yankee accent echoing mine.

  “Yes.” I swallowed the last of my fish and checked my lips for any stray bits of chocolate.

  “Have you lived here long?”

  “Just two weeks. My husband is working on a project at Jackamond Studios.”

  “Really?” She looked as if that bit of information struck a chord.

  “What about you? Do you live here?”

  “Yes.” She paused before adding, “We moved here six years ago. Just like you, we came because my husband was offered a job at Jackamond.”

  “Really! I’m Kathleen, by the way. Kathleen Salerno.”

  “Jill Radovich.” She motioned to the vacant chair across from her. “Would you like to join me? Or are you waiting for someone?”

  “No, I’m all alone.” Even though I’d been telling myself the same thing for a week, suddenly the hopelessness I’d attached to that phrase was gone. Being alone also meant being open and available for whatever possibilities might come my way.

  “Did you by any chance come from California?” Jill asked.

  “Yes, southern California.”

  “What part?”

  “Orange County.”

  She leaned forward, and I noticed all her tears were gone. “What part of Orange County?”

  “Tustin.”

  “What street?” Her smile told me she had heard of Tustin.

  “Schilling. It’s off of Seventeenth and …”

  Jill n
odded, her expression brightening. “I know exactly where Schilling is. My maiden name is Schilling. Your street is named after my grandfather. He owned all the Schilling Orange Groves.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No. I grew up in Tustin. Do you know where the two-story Victorian house is with the wraparound front porch? It was turned into a restaurant.”

  “Yes, the Fontaine Restaurant.”

  “My grandfather built that house. We lived there until I graduated from Foothill High School.”

  “You went to Foothill? So did I!”

  We compared the years we were at Foothill and found that Jill had graduated four years ahead of me.

  “We were almost there at the same time!” Jill said.

  “This is unbelievable! My husband, Tony and I have a house less than three blocks from the Fontaine Restaurant. As a matter of fact, we have two huge orange trees in our side yard. They were there when we moved in. I’m sure they were planted by your grandfather.”

  Jill pressed her lips together, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

  She drew in a steady breath. “I remember the day the bulldozers started uprooting the trees to clear the grove.”

  “That must have been awful for your family, seeing all those trees go.”

  She nodded. “Some of the trees were diseased and needed to be taken out. Actually, a lot of them were in distress. But not all of them.”

  “The reason we have the two trees is because I guess some hippy guy hung a hammock between them in an effort to save them.”

  “A hippy guy?” Jill’s gray eyes widened.

  “That’s the way we heard the story. When we moved in, we were told that this wild hippy guy camped out between the trees and stopped the bulldozer from knocking them down. The builders worked around him, and the trees are still there.”

  Jill looked as if that was the best news she had heard all day. “I can’t believe this. Those two trees are in your yard?”

  “Yes. They’re nice and healthy, huge and full of oranges every year. I’m so glad that loony guy put up his hammock.” I leaned back, trying to read Jill’s expression. “I’m sure you must have heard that story before.”

  “As a matter of fact I have,” Jill said. “That loony guy, by the way, was my husband.”

  Both my hands flew to cover my face, as the waitress brought my mocha latte and placed it on the table in front of me. Without looking at Jill between my closed fingers, I said, “I am so sorry! I can’t believe I said that.”

  Jill laughed and reached over to pull away my fingers. “It’s okay Ray was a hippy in those days. And he’s been called worse than loony, so don’t worry about that either.”

  “Well, then I’ll say this with all sincerity.” I put my hands in my lap and leaned forward. “Because of your husband, I have eagerly opened my windows every spring for the past twenty years, and our whole house has filled with the fragrance of orange blossoms. He did a wonderful thing saving those trees. I’m the one who has enjoyed the reward of his zeal.”

  “The reward of his zeal,” Jill repeated. She teared up, and I felt bad for making her cry again. Swallowing hard, she paused before saying, “Thank you for telling me that today. It means a lot.”

  Feeling hesitant to say anything else, I sipped my mocha and glanced at Jill’s tears as they wandered over her lower lids and silently rolled down to her chin.

  “Ray and I met in high school.” She looked out the window. “Ray was really something back in the seventies. Every mother’s nightmare of the kind of guy she didn’t want her daughter to bring home. Long hair, leather sandals. He was ready to protest injustice anytime and anywhere.”

  Jill’s moist cheeks lifted as she smiled and turned back to face me. “I was a goody-goody and a cheerleader, which was a combination that Ray found irresistible, or so he always said. He was determined to win me over, and once Ray Radovich put his mind to something, well … you might as well give up opposing him.”

  I nodded my understanding. “My husband, Tony, is the same way. He and I met in the parking lot at a concert. We started talking as we were walking in, and then we sat next to each other. That was it. We were pretty much together after that.”

  “What concert?”

  I hesitated slightly before answering. I didn’t know if telling Jill that Tony and I had met at a Christian concert would polarize us. I’d experienced that sort of distancing from women at work who were friendly and open toward me until they found out I was a Christian and very involved at church. Their assumptions about me took over at that point, and they pulled away, as if I were on a campaign to convert them instead of to become their friend. I didn’t want that to happen with Jill.

  Nevertheless, I was a Christian and not ashamed to say so. That’s who I was, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

  “Tony and I met at a Christian concert. A church in Costa Mesa used to have free concerts every Saturday night and—”

  “Yes! In a circus tent, right? It was out in a bean field or strawberry field. Not far from South Coast Plaza. You went there, too? Ray and I went every week after we became Christians our senior year of high school.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I shook my head in amazement. I was thrilled to hear Jill say she was also a Christian. “That means we could have been at the same concerts, because Tony and I used to go all the time, too! Can you imagine?”

  “We might have even sat next to each other but never met.”

  Jill and I ran through a list of the most memorable music groups and came to the conclusion that we definitely were at least in the same place on the same nights.

  “You have no idea what this means to me right now,” Jill said. “Meeting you, finding out you’re a believer, talking about home and Ray and high school days …” She choked up and reached for my hand to give it a squeeze. “This is the best thing that could have happened to me today.”

  “Me, too,” I echoed, giving her hand a squeeze back. I wished I could express to her how sincerely I meant it.

  “I only live a few blocks away I knew I had to get out of the house today. It took me all morning to pull myself together because …” She reached for a napkin to dab her tears and didn’t finish her thought.

  She didn’t need to. I understood more than she could imagine. “I know what you’re feeling, Jill. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  It struck me that I didn’t know exactly what she was feeling. I only knew what I was feeling. The reassurance was more for me than it was for Jill. We were both going to be okay. I just knew it.

  She looked out the window and then back at me with a soft expression. “I didn’t know what I needed today. All I knew was that I had to get out of the house. Now I know why.”

  Again I nodded my understanding.

  “There’s something Ray used to say about answered prayer: ‘If you feel a deep hunger but don’t know what you want, just ask God to order for you. That way you’ll always get whatever is the best on the menu.’ ”

  I started to leak my own sorry tears and chased them with a silent confession. I had spent the last week so lost in myself and unresponsive to God that I hadn’t asked Him to order anything for me. Yet He still gave me exactly what I needed to fill the emptiness.

  “God is so good to us,” I said in a whisper.

  Jill’s nod was slow in coming, but when her head began to bob, a trickle of laughter followed. “I feel like we’re in high school again. I can’t control any of my emotions.”

  “I know.” I fanned myself as I felt my temperature spiking. “And I think I’m starting to have hot flashes.” Lowering my voice I leaned closer and asked, “Forty-five is pretty young for this, isn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. Stress can really mess up your body’s rhythm.”

  Our conversation turned to details about our bodies, and the pros and cons of hormone therapy. After that we slid into other girls-only topics. For the next hour, our heads were bent close as we did what cle
ar-hearted women do so well. We opened the door, let each other come in, and warmed ourselves by the fire of our spirits.

  That’s when I realized that my new “home” in this place of upside-down living wasn’t an ugly garage with a blazing bed-spread and defiled bathtub. My home was my heart. And today, at last, my home was clean and ready for company.

  As the afternoon light dimmed, Jill looked at her watch. “Do you need to get home soon?”

  “No, not really What about you?”

  Jill shook her head and in a thin voice said, “No one is at my house waiting for me.”

  “I know what you mean. Tony hasn’t yet come home early enough for us to eat dinner together.” With a sigh I added, “I think I have a bad case of DENS.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Delayed Empty Nest Syndrome.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that,” Jill said.

  “Me neither. I just made it up!”

  We laughed, and I told Jill how our home had been Grand Central for many years. We had only one daughter, but she had many friends, and our place seemed to be the designated hangout.

  “What about you? Do you and Ray have children?”

  She held up three fingers. “All boys. Or I should say men. The two oldest are both married and settled in California. James, our youngest, is going to Victoria University here in Wellington, but he moved into student housing at the term change. It’s been very quiet around my house since he left.”

  “I know what you mean. We had exchange students living with us the first two years Skyler was in high school, and her senior year my nephew moved in and stayed until this past Christmas. As soon as he moved out, we remodeled the kitchen, but that was barely done before we came here. I’m not used to being alone.”

  “It’s not so great, is it?”

  “The only advantage seems to be there’s a lot less laundry.” My quip reminded me of the clothes I’d left hanging on the line. I told Jill I’d better head back to take down the clothes before the sun set. I could imagine all of Tony’s jeans turning stiff in the cooling air.